


a weird cup of space coffee

by dryswallow



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F, Flirting, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Space Coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8344426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dryswallow/pseuds/dryswallow
Summary: Alana Maxwell is both a blessing and a curse in the life of Isabel Lovelace.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alliterate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliterate/gifts).



Monday, 04:50

 

Even in the depths of space, where time exists precariously and days are defined solely by the countdown of the ship’s clock, Isabel Lovelace is an early riser. She greets the day the way she has for most of her life: on her back, in the dark, staring at the ceiling.

“Another day,” she says aloud to herself. “You can make it through this one. Just like the last one. You’re fine.”

A deep breath. She’s fine.

There’s still over an hour before her alarm is set to go off, but there’s no point in going back to bed. Her body is restless in the mornings, no matter how little she sleeps. Isabel takes her time as she washes up and dresses, then makes her way down to the kitchen for breakfast.

Usually, the kitchen is empty. Even Minkowski, with her adherence to schedules and insistence on the importance of eating a nutritious breakfast, doesn’t get up this early. But this morning, Maxwell is sitting at the Hephaestus’s equivalent of a kitchen table, flipping through a logbook. In her hand is a strangely shaped cup filled with dark liquid.

And there’s a smell – an unexpected but familiar smell.

“You’re up early, Maxwell.”

Maxwell glances up from her notes, then back down again. “Good morning to you too, Captain Lovelace.”

Isabel inhales deeply a second time, just in case she’s mistaken. No, that’s definitely what she thinks it is.

“Is that… is that coffee?”

Maxwell nods. “It is indeed. We restocked your food and beverage supplies shortly after we came on board, remember? There’s coffee, a few kinds of tea, and Tang, of course.”

Isabel can almost taste it, hot and rich on her tongue.  She can almost feel the caffeine pushing through her system, giving her the little boost she needs to make the first part of her day more tolerable. Delicious, delicious coffee.

“Are you okay, Captain?” Maxwell asks.

“Yeah, I just… I can’t remember the last time I had coffee,” Isabel says. “It’s been _years_.”

“That is awful,” Maxwell says. “In fact, I’d go as far as to say it’s inhumane.”

She abandons her logbook without a second thought, leaving it to float just above the kitchen table. Then, before Isabel can even ask what she’s doing, Maxwell has pushed herself over to the other side of the kitchen and has started rummaging through the cupboards.

“Maxwell, what are you doing…?”

“Let me make you a cup! I know it’s just weird space coffee, but I swear, I make it taste pretty good! Better than Jacobi or Kepler, that’s for sure. You probably had the powder stuff before, but there have been a few scientific advancements since you were sent up. Now we have… this!”

When Maxwell turns back around, she’s holding what appears to be a syringe full of water in one hand and an oddly-shaped cup in the other.

Lovelace can’t say she’s impressed.

“And what exactly is that?”

“Pour-over coffee! I know it seems a little bit unnecessary, but if Colonel Kepler is allowed to bring his collection of Scotch into space with him, I don’t see why the rest of us can’t have our pleasures as well. Watch this.”

Maxwell connects the syringe to the bottom of the cup and pushes the water through. There must be a drink pod in that end of the cup, Lovelace realized, because the liquid that appears in it is the same dark brown as that which Maxwell was drinking earlier.

When she’s finished, Maxwell detaches the syringe with a flourish and presents the cup to Lovelace.

“And here you are. One cup of coffee.”

“Thanks…” Isabel accepts the drink, unable to stop her hands from moving slowly with hesitation.

“Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned,” Maxwell says, unfazed. “Though I mean, poisoning you would be pretty stupid, even if I did want you dead.”

“Gee, that’s reassuring,” Isabel says. And it is, a little bit.

She brings the cup to her lips slowly. The smell is even stronger now, filling her nostrils and dripping down the back of her throat.

It’s irresistible. Carefully, she takes a sip.

It is, as Maxwell said, weird space coffee. But it’s heavenly. Isabel rolls it over her tongue, savouring the taste. It’s kind of watery, like pour-over coffee always is, but it’s not the worst she’s ever had either.

“That’s actually pretty good,” she admits.

“I’m glad.” Maxwell grins. The pale overhead lights of the Hephaestus aren’t usually flattering for anyone, but now that Isabel is paying attention, she feels herself drawn to the shape and colour of Maxwell’s lips. Grinning like that suits her. If this were another place and time, in one of her home city’s lesbian bars…

No no no. That’s a thought she’s going to ignore.

Maxwell is still smiling, oblivious to the thoughts playing out in her head.

“I’ve got to get going,” she says. “I’ll see you around, Captain.”

She brushes Isabel’s shoulder as she passes by, and Isabel tries not to think about whether it was intentional.

Maxwell is an employee of Goddard Futuristics. The people who sent her up here and left her to die. The people who still won’t give her any answers.

That’s all that matters.

* * *

Thursday, 22:03

 

The rooms where Hera’s hardware is stored have always been a bit crowded, but with Maxwell working in them, they’ve become nothing less than chaotic. When Isabel arrives there are several boxes of parts stored by the desk, and Maxwell has no less than four screens displaying code open in front of her.

“I’m here to check over the rest of those read-outs you mentioned,” Isabel says as she enters, trying not to make sure she doesn’t accidentally disturb any of the parts Maxwell has lying around.

Maxwell doesn’t look away from the computer in front of her. The lenses of her glasses are bright from the glow of the screens, obscuring her eyes.

“Okay,” she says, distracted. “It’s up on that other screen over there.”

She gestures to the left with her head, unable to spare a hand from typing. Her fingers move quickly, a constant clack clack clack against the keyboard in front of her.

Isabel glances over the information Maxwell has left for her, giving it as much attention as she can muster after a 10 hour repair shift. Maxwell’s notes are fine. In fact, they’re better than fine.

“I caught a few things, but it looks like you saw them too,” she calls over to Maxwell. “Everything’s in order.”

“’Kay.”

Clack clack clack.

“I thought your shift was over already,” Isabel says.

“Oh, it is. There’s a few more things I wanted to get done though. Sleep can wait.”

Isabel raises her eyebrows. “And this can’t?”

“Not really. The longer I wait to make repairs to Hera’s system, the worse the damage gets and the more pain she’s in. Better to get this done now. It’s like a doctor delaying a procedure, or opting to take a break in the middle of open-heart surgery. An AI isn’t a bunch of component parts glued together, she’s a whole ecosystem. I have to accommodate that. If I work extra hours for her, I don’t mind.”

“It sounds like you care about her.”

“Of course I do,” Maxwell says.

“I’ll admit, I’m a bit surprised.”

Finally, the typing stops. Maxwell lifts her hands from the keyboard and raises them high above her head in a stretch. Her back arches in a way Isabel might find appealing, if Maxwell weren’t on the other side of enemy lines.

Maxwell finishes her stretch and spins her chair around to face Lovelace.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll bite. Why are you surprised?”

“Well,” Isabel begins. “I didn’t expect someone sent up here by Goddard Futuristics to be so invested in the well-being of any of us. And no offense, but after the last doctor we had – still have, unfortunately – I don’t exactly expect things like empathy or compassion from someone in your position.”

“Fair point about Hillbert. But I’m nothing like him. To me, it doesn’t matter if Hera is biological or digital. She’s real, and she’s part of our crew. An essential part, I might add. Besides, I like her. She’s funny, and interesting. I want to get her back on her feet as soon as possible.”

“I see. I… thank you for being so dedicated in helping with Hera.”

“You’re welcome, Captain Lovelace.”

“Is that all the questions for now, or am I free to go?”

Maxwell narrows her eyes. “Actually, no, I have one more. Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like – I don’t know, like I’m about to grow a third eye, some razor teeth, and then bite your head off? Or how about: as if I’m going to pull a knife out from behind my back and stab you if you let your guard down for even a second? Hm? Or am I reading you wrong?”

Isabel sighs, crossing her arms. “You saw the way we greeted you. It’s been a bit of a rough ride out here. Especially for me. I don’t have the liberty to be generous with my trust. That’s simply a fact of our lives up here.

“But,” she continues, “I wasn’t meaning to be confrontational about it. I was only keeping what felt like an appropriate distance.”

_A safe distance_ , her mind corrects. This isn’t about professionalism; it’s about survival.

Maxwell tilts her head. “That’s a bit sad, don’t you think?”

“Sad? What, that I’m not all buddy-buddy with you guys? Don’t play dumb, Maxwell. I know you’re not ‘here to make friends.’”

“Yeah, but I’m not here to make enemies either. I’m here to _do my job_. And doing my job includes being able to get along with my colleagues so we can work as a team to do things like problem-solve, and you know, _not die in space_. And I may work for Goddard Futuristics, but I’m certainly not the one calling the shots. I’m here to work with the ship, and with Hera, to help as much as I can.

“Anyway, I just wanted to nip this little hate-on thing you’ve got going in the bud before it causes us any real problems. Okay?”

Maxwell’s intensity has reduced her to silence. Isabel sucks her teeth, anger simmering quietly in her chest. She could attempt to explain herself, the logic of her paranoia, but she can tell it would do no good. Maxwell hasn’t lived through the things she has. She breathes deeply, pushing past the emotion until she can speak calmly.

“Got it,” Isabel says.

“All right,” Maxwell says. “Glad we got that worked out. It’s too bad, though. You seemed fun.”

“What? _Fun_?”

“Yep. I read in your file you were once quite the prankster.”

“That-” Isabel stammers. “That was a very long time ago.”

“Mm, maybe. It’s rare that a prankster loses her spark.”

“None of that matters now.” Isabel sighs, glancing over at the clock. “I need to get some sleep. I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” Maxwell says, and turns back to her keyboard.

_Get some rest, you idiot,_ Isabel almost tells her, but she bites her tongue instead.

* * *

Tuesday, 15:30

It takes Isabel a few days to think of the idea, and a few more to work herself up to doing it. It’s not something she takes lightly – if she’s going to do this, she’s going to do it right. And one afternoon, when she finally has a break from repairs and the kitchen is empty, she gets her chance.

Eiffel drifts into the room just as she’s finishing her preparations, his entire body sagging with exhaustion.

“Good day, Captain,” he says. “What should we have today, something dehydrated? No, maybe something freeze-dried. God, I wish the plant experiments had succeeded in growing real food instead of becoming sentient and trying to kill us.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Or maybe I’ll stop talking, since it seems like you’re busy and aren’t actually listening to me.”

Isabel holds up the cup, inspecting its contents. Time for a second opinion.

“Eiffel, does this look like coffee to you?”

He glances at the cup, then to Isabel, as if waiting for a punchline. When none comes, he sighs and looks back to the cup.

“Yeeeees? As in, yes, it does look like coffee but why on earth are you asking me that?”

“Top secret mission.”

Eiffel smiles nervously. “Normally, I would ask. But I just spent way, way too long listening to static and digging through a ton of useless information, so I’m just going to accept what you told me and go to bed.”

“Good choice,” Isabel tells him. “Minkowski and Kepler will probably get mad at you for skipping a meal though.”

“Ugh, I forgot they tracked that. Okay, I’ll eat… something.”

“Good luck, Eiffel.”

Isabel smirks to herself as she leaves the kitchen and heads down to where Hera has told her Maxwell’s current shift is taking place.

This time, Isabel finds Maxwell in a storage room, digging through a closet of what looks like back-up parts for one of the ship’s computers. Maxwell mutters to herself as she runs her hands over the hardware, so focused she doesn’t notice she’s not alone until Isabel speaks.

“Maxwell?”

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. Just give me one second to…” Maxwell reaches deep into the closet and pulls out another chunk, then sighs when she sees it’s got something that could be scorch marks burnt cross it.

“Wow, my job would be a lot easier if your spare parts weren’t all literally garbage. Anyway, did the Colonel send you here to give me a hand? I told him I could handle it.”

“No, I came on my own. Do you have a second to talk?”

Maxwell raises an eyebrow.

“Sure. Let’s talk. I assume you have a particular topic in mind? Because I doubt you’re here just to shoot the shit.”

“Yes, I…” Isabel pauses to clear her throat. Maxwell’s gaze bears down on her, intense and unwavering.

Well, no turning back now.

“I was thinking about what you said the other day,” Isabel says. “About looking like I thought you were going to stab me, and not being here to make enemies, and all those things. I wanted to… acknowledge that you had a point, and say I’m glad you’re taking care of Hera the way you are. Not everyone would do that for her.”

Maxwell is listening, arms crossed over her chest. She looks curious, not suspicious. So far so good.

“And I brought you some coffee,” Isabel continues, offering the cup. “Probably not as good as yours, but it’s coffee.”

“I can’t say I was expecting any of this,” Maxwell admits. “But thank you. I was just starting to crave some caffeine to this is convenient, at the very least.”

She accepts the cup from Lovelace. It’s halfway to her lips before she stops, glancing up with concern in her eyes.

“Did you make one for me and not yourself?” she asks. “I thought you were on two shifts today.”

Lovelace tries not to make her anxiety too obvious. “Oh, I had mine earlier, just after the first shift finished.”

“Oh, right then.”

Maxwell lifts the drink to her mouth and begins to sip. It only takes a second – as soon as the drink hits Maxwell’s tongue, her eyes go wide with panic. She pulls the cup away from her mouth and begins coughing into her sleeve.

Try as she might, Isabel can’t keep straight face. She lets out a short barking laugh, surprised at how easily it seems to bubble up out of her chest.

Maxwell was right. Even after all this time, she loves a good prank.

“Oh my god,” Maxwell gasps. “What is that?!”

“Usually I’d make you guess,” Lovelace says. “But I’ll go easy on you. There is some coffee in there. However, it’s mostly a mixture of few different sauces, a nasty liquid vitamin that Minkowski insists on drinking and some water.”

Maxwell gags loudly. “Ugh. I’m gonna get you back for this. I’ll tell Kepler you were wasting resources!”

“Wasting? Who said anything about wasting this perfectly fine beverage?”

“You wouldn’t…”

She would. Isabel steels herself and brings the cup to her lips. Careful not to breathe in through her nose and inhale the scent, she quickly tilts her head back and drinks as quickly as she can.

It’s disgusting, but worth it for the look on Maxwell’s face: a perfect mix of disgust and awe. When she swallows the last of it down, she holds the cup high in the air and takes a bow.

Maxwell shakes her head. “I have no idea how you did that.”

“Do you know how long I spent in the army?” Isabel asks. “This kind of prank is mild in comparison to what I’ve seen some people do.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that, you’ll get my imagination going.”

“No need to imagine. I’ll tell you stories sometime, if you’ve got the stomach.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“Well,” Isabel says, surprised at the words even as she says them. “Maybe it is.”

“I knew you’d be fun,” Maxwell says, grinning. “Come here.”

She reaches across the space between them to grab Isabel by the front of her jacket. Without gravity to weigh her down, Isabel’s body is light and easy to maneuver, and a light tug from Maxwell is enough to pull her close enough that they’re almost touching.

Isabel didn’t realize before, but Maxwell is taller than her by a few inches. In their current position, Isabel has to look up to look Maxwell in the eye, and when she does, Maxwell is still smiling in her peculiar, playful way.

It feels like Maxwell is going to kiss her, which is ridiculous - it can't be right. She must be missing something, or misreading something. There has to be another reason for why Maxwell’s fingers are ghosting along the side of her jaw, almost tipping her face upwards.

“I’m not going to ask you to trust me,” Maxwell says. “But do you think you could have enough faith to kiss me without worrying I’m going to stab you or whatever?”

“I…”

A yes or no question shouldn’t be so difficult to answer. Part of her brain is screeching at her, full of paranoia and anxiety. Lovelace is alive for a reason and that reason is revenge, not sneaking with another member of the crew in storage rooms.

But there’s another, calmer part of her who is drawn to Maxwell despite all that.

Baggy space uniforms aren’t sexy. Broken computer parts aren’t sexy. And kissing someone as potentially dangerous and weird as Maxwell shouldn’t be sexy, but goddamnit, Maxwell _is_ attractive and the thought of kissing her has warmth blooming in the bit of Isabel’s stomach.

Eventually, she answers: “Yeah. I think I can manage that.”

Maxwell looks pleased. “Good,” she says.

She moves slow, slower than Isabel would have expected. She kisses her cheek first, fingers moving down from Isabel’s jaw to the tender skin of her neck. Her touch is soothing, not threatening. Isabel lets herself relax into it, and then finally, finally Maxwell is kissing her. Isabel wraps her arms around Maxwell’s back and leans in closer until she can feel the warmth of Maxwell’s body pressing into her own. She kisses back deeply, challenging the rhythm Maxwell has set. It’s a risk, but when she hears Maxwell moaning quietly into her mouth, she knows it was worth taking.

Isabel’s skin feels like it is alive with electricity. Every place that Maxwell touches is a hot wire, lighting up beneath her fingers. Maxwell’s hands press against her shoulders, then drop down to her lower back. She pulls back for a moment, catching her breath.

“Ahem.”

Hera’s voice rings out from a speaker above them. Isabel pulls away so fast she almost trips over her own legs.

“What’s up, Hera?” Maxwell says, far too calm for someone whose make out session was just interrupted by an AI.

“Hey guys. Super SUPER sorry for barging in. But Jacobi wants Lovelace to come look at some structural issues with him ASAP.”

“My shift doesn’t start for at least a half hour,” Lovelace protests.

“Yeah, I know, but he said ASAP, and if you don’t get down there, he’s either going to call you or come looking for you, and I thought this would be better than the alternative. And maybe a little bit less embarrassing for all of us.”

“That… that is true,” Lovelace says. She sighs. “Can’t catch a break on this damn ship, can we. Okay, tell Jacobi I’ll be down soon.”

“Roger that!”

A crackle of static, and Hera is gone.

“Well. This sucks.”

“Yeah. But, it’s not that bad,” Maxwell says. “We can finish this later, after we’ve got some work done. Maybe you could meet me back here at… when does your shift end, 23:00?”

“22:00.”

Maxwell grins. “Okay. 22:00 it is.”

“Okay,” Lovelace says, and feels herself starting to smile. “It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi alliterate! This doesn't fill one of your prompts specifically but is instead a bit of a weird mash-up of all the things I thought about these two after reading your letter. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I tried to do as much 'life in space' research possible for this fic, but I know it's unrealistic in some ways. You really can have pour-over coffee in space though: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWBtFfX-NDI
> 
> Maxwell's enthusiasm for coffee is extrapolated from the few times she mentions drinking it in canon plus the fact that she seems to stay up for long lengths of time working on projects, and most people who do that love their coffee.


End file.
